


Boy Don't Cry

by CR Noble (erudite12), phoenix_michie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, promptus exchangarama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 03:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudite12/pseuds/CR%20Noble, https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_michie/pseuds/phoenix_michie
Summary: Dean's nightmares just won't stop, but luckily, Castiel might have a way to soothe his soul.





	Boy Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration between phoenix_michie and CR Noble, done for the Writers of Destiel discord Promptus Exchangarama. 
> 
> I (phoenix_michie) started this fic, and CR Noble finished it. The word that prompted this fic was "nightmare".

***.*.***

„Sam?“

Dean hears his own heartbeat, _ ba bum, ba bum, ba bum _, as he waits for a reply that never comes. 

“Cas?!”

_ Ba bum. Ba bum. _

It takes a lot of effort to open his eyes, but Dean makes it despite the pain in various parts of his body. There’s a fuzzy feeling in his head, his vision is blurred, and he probably shouldn’t move, because it hurts like a bitch, but he plants his hands on the ground and pushes himself up just enough to get a view on the battlefield they made of another abandoned ware house.

With a pained groan, he comes to kneel on the hard concrete floor, fighting an unpleasant feeling in his stomach. There’s someone standing in the far corner of the building; Dean doesn’t remember who it is—what it is. All Dean knows is that he went on a hunt with Sam and Cas, and that they were attacked. Obviously, it's not going well for them.

_ Fuck _ , it even hurts to just _ think. _It’s too hard to remember why they’re here and what they’re fighting. But he does remember that he’s not here alone, and he searches for his brother and his friend. 

What he spots makes his stomach churn. It’s a miracle that he can make out Sam even with all the blood covering him. And there’s a fuckton of blood on Sam, and around him, and… Dean swallows as he feels bile rising up his throat. Seems like Sammy got his arm broken, judging by the unnatural angle his forearm is bent away from the elbow. Shit, fuck…!

Dean’s heartrate picks up as his eyes shift to the right where he catches some movement. He squints, trying to get up, but fails. Slowly, he crawls towards Sam, but again, something moves. This time, he takes a closer look, just to discover Cas lying on the ground. But he’s obviously awake, as he’s moving, trying to sit up.

“Cas!”

The angel startles as he hears Dean’s voice.

“Dean?!”

“Cas, I’m here. Wait a minute.” For a second, he feels something like relief flooding his chest at the knowledge that Cas is alive, and suddenly, Dean feels a bit more positive about their situation. Cas will help them to get back on their feet.

As Dean tries to resume his way over to Sam and Cas, a voice pierces through the unnatural silence of the warehouse. “Oh. It seems like I missed one.”

It’s that person or _ thing _ that Dean saw standing in the far corner just a minute ago. It looks like a human, dressed in a black suit. Oh, fuck. An angel?

The guy is now coming closer, fast, his stride determined just like the look in his eyes. His gaze is focused on Cas. _ Shit. _

“Cas!” Dean shouts in order to warn him, but Cas already noticed the danger. He stands on wobbly legs, angel blade in his hand and blood dripping from his left temple. 

Once again, Dean tries to get up, because he has to help Cas. Then Sam, and then they’ll get the fuck out of here! Wherever ‘here’ is. It’s still hard to remember why they’re in this warehouse, but right now, Dean isn’t bothered by that, since he’s focused on Cas. His angel seems unsteady on his feet, not ready to defend himself, and Dean’s protective instinct kicks in, _ hard. _

Gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the searing pain in his legs as he stands up, he pushes himself onto his feet, taking a couple of steps towards Cas, but it’s too late. The other angel draws his angel blade, reaching Cas, and he doesn’t falter in his movements as he comes to a halt right in front of Castiel, stopping Cas’ poor attempt of a fight. Dean’s just able to watch since he’s suddenly frozen in place. The stranger catches Cas’ raised hand, pushes him back into the wall, and then, there’s just light. Holy, blue-white light that Dean normally appreciates to see since it means that another douchebag angel died, but this time he feels pure terror flooding his insides. Right before he has to shut his eyes to protect them from the fierce brightness surrounding Cas, he spots an angel blade right in Castiel’s abdomen.

There’s a strangled sound coming from Cas as Dean crumbles onto the floor. His heart threatens to leap out of his chest, and he forces himself to open his eyes. The light emanating from Cas subsides at the same time, and Dean stares at his angel.

Cas is no longer standing on his feet now. He’s lying on the floor again, this time unmoving. As Dean takes in the shadows of wings surrounding Cas, his breath hitches in his throat. No. 

No no no no _no_.

Cas’ name dies on his lips; his throat constricts. It costs him a lot of strength to keep on breathing. He feels cold, defeated, but his gaze shifts from a lifeless Cas to the foreign angel, then to Sam. Although Dean can feel the eyes of the angel on him, he stares at Sam.

“Sammy?”

“Oh, please,” the angel says and takes a few steps over to Sam. Dean’s eyes widen in horror as the man pushes Sam onto his back with his foot. “He’s already dead. There’s just you and me now.”

And strangely enough, Dean knows immediately that the angel is right. They _ are _ dead. Sam and Cas are _ dead. _In their line of work, they had it coming. But still, Dean’s blindsided by the fact that it’s happened now.

He feels numb as he looks up into the eyes of the angel who’s now standing right in front of him. “What are you waiting for? Kill me.” His voice is hoarse from unshed tears.

The thin lips of the angel’s vessel curl into an unpleasant smirk. “Oh, no. You will live, Dean Winchester. I know that you will stew in your own juices now, knowing you are guilty for the deaths of your beloved ones. I think you’ll off yourself eventually. I wish you a pleasant time until then. This right here, right now?” The angel grins down at him. “This is hell.”

*.*.* 

With a shout, Dean wakes up. His eyes snap open and he stares into the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest.

_ Just a nightmare, _ he thinks in a poor attempt to calm himself. With a clammy hand, he reaches for the lamp on his nightstand. His room is washed in a warm glow, and the light eases the panic in his gut_. _

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, grimacing as he feels his damp t-shirt sticking to his body. Although he knows that it was just another nightmare he had, he can’t stop but feel like he’s still caught in it. For a few weeks now, he’s having these kind of nightmares. Every fucking night, he loses Sam and Cas. Again and again. It doesn’t stop.

It’s probably because he’d been _ so close _to really losing them. Four weeks ago, all three of them had ended up in the fucking hospital, even Castiel had been there because he’d been completely drained, no grace left in his body. Sam had had a severe concussion that brought him to the brink of death. A hunt had gone wrong, Dean the only one able to drive—but on their way to the hospital some demons had caught them, crashing into them and almost ripping the Impala apart. That’s when Dean himself got severely injured. Even now, he doesn’t remember getting into the hospital. But they had been rescued in the end, and that’s what matters.

Still, the shock, the powerlessness, the cold, the pure panic, the fear of losing his brother and his best friend, not able to help and save them… Those feelings still reside deep within him, surfacing at night, and it fucking destroys him. Because even though he knows that Sam is well, sleeping right next door, breathing, Dean’s afraid that soon enough, he’ll be gone.

Of course, Sam and Cas know that something’s wrong. They’re just as worried about him as he is about them. Cas even stopped leaving the bunker for any cases. If there’s a grocery trip necessary, then he’ll do it, but other than that, he’s doing…nothing. Guy must be close to getting crazy. Being cooped up in the bunker for a couple of weeks does that to you. Dean completely understands that. Right now, though, he’s relieved that Sam’s alright with taking a break, and apparently, his brother also talked Cas into it.

So here they are, all three of them, rarely leaving their safe space. Dean knows that it can’t go on like that, but for the past days, he’s been grateful for the peace and quiet. Only at night he’s back in his own hell, and he doesn’t know what to do about that.

Dean swings his legs out of bed and gets up, intent on distracting himself because there’s no way he’ll be able to go back to sleep. But as he stands, he has to close his eyes and take a minute, his head swimming. Images of his newest nightmare flash behind his eyelids, and seeing his closest family dying again makes him sick. 

With a soft groan escaping his throat, Dean rubs a hand over his face as he opens his eyes again. “Get it together. They are _ alive. _”

While he leaves his room, Dean’s aware of the fact that Cas will be somewhere around here, awake. He almost never sleeps, and right now, that thought is comforting.

His feet carry him through the corridors of the bunker without his brain having any particular destination in mind. Dean just needs to not be in his bedroom.

He cracks open Sam’s door quietly when he passes it, just to check and make sure his brother is okay. Even knowing that what he saw in his restless sleep is just a dream, Dean needs to know, to see for himself the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest as he lies on his bed, sprawled out and covering nearly all of it with his long frame. The lamp on the nightstand is still on and there is a thick leather bound tome resting open on Sam’s stomach as he sleeps. They don’t talk about it, but Dean knows it hasn’t been easy for Sam either.

Dean’s panic subsides a little further now that he’s seen with his own eyes that Sam is alive and well enough. He pulls the door closed with a soft  _ snick  _ and moves further down the corridor. 

Moving slowly, as though he’s afraid he will turn a corner and suddenly be in the midst of the awful nightmare again, Dean eventually makes his way to the library. He isn’t surprised to see Castiel already there, sitting in one of the arm chairs and reading a book. Castiel doesn’t seem surprised to see Dean, either.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asks without looking up. His blue eyes are tired. Dean knows that even if the angel doesn’t need sleep, he’s exhausted. They all are. But it’s the sort of bone deep, existential feeling that no amount of rest or relaxation can cure. They’re tired because they’ve seen too much; they know too much. And short of have their entire existences erased from their minds, there is no way to fix it.

Dean sits in the arm chair nearest Castiel. Being physically close to him is comforting. “Yeah. I had a nightmare.” He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t want to talk about it anyway. Castiel simply nods and reaches through the space between them to take Dean’s hand in his and squeeze it gently before letting it go.

There was a time when the gesture would have made Dean uncomfortable, but now he was glad for it. He needs Cas in ways he’s not ready to face or to talk about, but is reminded of with every incidental touch. It makes the nightmares, the idea of losing Cas, that much harder for Dean to deal with. He doesn’t know if Cas is aware of any of this, but the angel has been offering physical comfort more and more often these days. Maybe it’s comforting for Cas, too.

Without being asked to, Castiel moves his chair closer to Dean’s, so the arms are touching. It leaves much less space between them, but enough for Dean not to make his complaints about personal space. Not that he would complain at this moment. “Would you like me to read to you?”

Dean thinks about listening to the deep rumble of Cas’s soft voice speaking the words written on the pages of whatever lore book he has chosen to bury his nose in tonight. “Yeah,” he answers. “Yeah, that would be nice.” 

Castiel nods and starts reading from his current page. “_ He had never thought that the dwarves would actually dare to approach Smaug, but believed they were frauds who would sooner or later be discovered and be turned out.” _

Dean is a little surprised that Cas is reading _ The Hobbit _ and not some boring reference book, but he’s also glad because it’s one of his favorite books. He isn’t sure he couldn’t handle Vonnegut in his current state of mind. Cas’s voice is soothing; he sounds like one of those people that narrates audiobooks for a living. He doesn’t look to see if Dean is listening or paying attention, but Dean watches him for a while anyway.

Cas is as enthralled by the story as Dean is every time he reads it. Even though he is speaking softly, Cas’s lips fully form every word and Dean can’t help but watch the way they move. Cas’s eyes are bright and his brow is furrowed in concentration. Dean wants to watch him all night, but the calm depths of Cas’s voice are lulling him back toward sleep. He leans against Cas, resting his head on the angel’s shoulder.

“_ Smaug came hurtling in from the North, licking the mountain-sides with flame, beating his great wings with a noise like a roaring wind. His hot breath shrivelled the grass before the door, and drove in through the crack they had left and scorched them as they hid. Flickering fires leaped up and black rock-shadows danced. The darkness fell as he passed again, _” Cas reads.

Dean feels the way Cas’s body shifts slightly with every breath and he settles into it. It’s easy to forget about the nightmare when he can be with Cas like this. His eyes grow heavier, so he lets them close. Cas’s flesh is warm against his face, even through the shirt and trench coat that he still never takes off. Dean won’t say it out loud, but he wishes he could feel more of Cas pressed against him. He wants to wrap himself up in Cas and pretend that their lives are something else, something normal.

With his eyes closed, Dean falls asleep quickly and this time he has more pleasant dreams. He sees a house that belongs to them, one that doesn’t look too different from the home Dean grew up in before mom died. It has a 65-inch flatscreen in the living room and they spend at least a couple of nights a week watching movies. They yell at the screen when people do stupid things and try to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths. 

The front of the house faces the west, and most evenings Dean and Cas sit on the swing and drink beer while they watch the sunset. The Kansas sky is painted in startlingly beautiful pinks, purples, and oranges fading into the dark blue of the starry night sky. Dean points out constellations and tells Cas about them for the hundredth time, just like he did with Sammy when they were kids. Cas never seems to mind when Dean tells him the same stories over and over. He just smiles and listens intently, like Dean’s words are the most important things in the universe.

Sam and Eileen bring the twins over for dinner on Sundays. They love how Uncle Dean lets them do whatever they want, and how Uncle Cas sneaks them sweets before dinner. Sam and Cas entertain the kids while Dean and Eileen cook. She always tells him how much his sign language is improving and he smiles proudly and just signs ‘_ I have the best teacher.’ _ They sit around a dining room table that’s just barely big enough to fit all of them. No one seems to mind that they’re a little crowded. When dinner is finished, Sam and Dean clear the table and wash the dishes. Sam talks about some environmental law stuff that’s over Dean’s head, and Dean tells him that business is great at the shop.

Somehow, even in his sleep, Dean knows this isn’t the way things actually are. Even if Dean managed to tell Cas how he feels, they can never have a life like this. They know too much of the truth. But he lets himself enjoy the dream for as long as it is there. 

Cas is lying next to Dean in the bed they share, and their arms and legs are wrapped around each other as their lips come together in fervent, impassioned kisses. The sounds Cas makes are beautiful, and Dean can’t get enough of them, can’t get enough of how it feels to be one with his angel. It’s a high like he’s never experienced before, and Dean has tried a lot of things to numb the pain. They stay wrapped up in each other long after their love-making is done.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says in that deep rumble that Dean is well aware he will never tire of hearing.

“I know,” Dean replies, making Castiel laugh softly. They fall asleep together like that. 

  
*.*.*

“Dean?” It’s Sam’s voice calling to him.

Dean opens his eyes and blinks groggily at his brother towering over him. “Where’s Cas?” he asks when he realizes the angel is no longer sitting next to him. His heart sinks a little.

“He’s just grabbing some coffee,” Sam replies, walking over to the table where his own coffee mug and laptop are sitting. “I think I found us a case.”

Just then, Cas comes back into the library with two steaming mugs, and holds one out to Dean. The small, soft smile on his face is reminiscent of the one from Dean’s dream, and he takes that mental picture and tucks it into his heart to keep forever.

Taking the mug from Cas, Dean thinks it’s time to at least _ try _ to move forward, to get past the nightmares and the fear. Maybe he can’t have a 65-inch flatscreen and a white picket fence, but he has Cas, and he has Sam. Their lives are difficult but meaningful. It’s time to let himself feel fulfilled.

“Okay, Sammy,” he says. “What do ya got?”


End file.
